Too Late
by ritebeforeyoureyes
Summary: It's a year after Molly's filed for divorce and now in Israel, under the command of the US Army, two platoons, consisting of Molly and her soon to be ex-husband are forced into an unexpected battle that revives feelings that Molly has tried so hard to repress.
1. Chapter 1

Hey, my lovelies! My army and political knowledge is deriving from what I learnt at school a few years ago so please, excuse me if I'm wrong! Other than that, I hope you enjoy this first chapter and I would love to hear your opinions on it x

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Regrettably, one of the first things Molly thought of when she learnt of her husband's affair with Georgie Lane was the fact that she was glad that no children were involved.

Ascending into the third year of their marriage, at the tender age of twenty-five, Molly Dawes – _or Molly James, as she was referred to at the time –_ had found herself thinking of children. She had been raised with a house full of _bleeders,_ as she called them, and from an early age she had concluded that she didn't want to end up like her mum. Molly had grown up watching her mother from the side-lines, pursuing a marriage that consisted of blinding lust and an obligation to stay together for the sake of the children. Molly didn't want that, she didn't want Charlie to resent her later on in life like he did to Rebecca. The thought of him hating her somewhere along the line had scared Molly, so much so that she and Charles had avoided the topic of having children of their own for years.

But now, _after everything_ , Molly was glad they wimped out of the serious conversation. Because, as horrible as it sounded, Molly was almost certain she would have stayed with him, with Charlie, if they had had children. After making it through Keough, then Afghan and then the loss of Smurf, Molly's skin had thickened, and she knew she would have done exactly as Belinda had – _compromised._

And, she thought of such compromise at the strangest of moments. She was doing her job, caring for patients in the most surreal of situations and the thought of her _own children_ flickered into her mind. They were always fleeting but it was something that chilled Molly to the bone. Now that she wasn't as young and as heartbroken, Molly could picture herself with a child or two. She could picture little toddlers with curly hair and foul mouths and in her head, the bleeding kids always looked like Charlie. The fantasies in her head consisted of the stereotypical nuclear family that she always hated seeing on the tele as a kid. And that was what scared the willies out of her the most, that even after all this time, _he_ was the one she thought of being with.

It bothered her, actually, a lot more than she cared to admit. She would sit on her bed, the rest of her platoon asleep, and she'd thump at the side of her head; an attempt to rid the painful memories of his cheeky grin as she called him ' _boss-man'_ It was like her mind was a TV that only played reruns of their time together. She remembered it all as if it were yesterday, her heart simulatenously content and aching at the thought of her first tour, their dates … their wedding day. As the flashbacks from her big day came, the stream of silent tears were triggered. Her little frame would shake in bed as she tried to rid herself of the painstaking memories. But usually, her attempts were to no avail. His lingering gaze still penetrated her through her own memories and so, Molly was forced to do the only thing she knew how – _work._

The past year after filing for divorce – which still hadn't been finalised – had consisted of Molly trying to be the best medic she could possibly be. When she was sent home for some rest and recuperation following the disastrous end to her marriage, Molly took it upon herself to go back to school. The idle time she knew she would have once tour was over meant that she'd have to dwell on her relationships with both Charles and Georgie. And honestly, Molly couldn't handle that. She felt like an idiot, betrayed – it was like experiencing Proud Mary and Artan all over again. So, she decided to keep herself busy. It had been hard, practically impossible, but unlike she had during high school, Molly actually studied. She had moved in with her fellow medic and friend, Jackie, and for the first time in her academic life, she _tried._

At first, Molly realised why she had hated school so much. She didn't test well and that was evident as her course progressed. As a result, people looked down at her for her grammar and her fiery nature, but she learnt to ignore it. She was at the library as often as she could be, drowning herself in textbook terms about the human anatomy. She didn't make any friends or socialise with anyone other than Jackie, which admittedly wasn't healthy, but it got her through. It stopped her from overthinking her relationship and most definitely gave her a greater understanding of the importance of her job.

When it was all done and dusted, she'd barely made it, but – she had, _made it._

Hence, why Molly Dawes became one of the medics that was always in high demand. She was known for her courage – her award for gallantry consolidated that – but with her added knowledge, every platoon wanted her on board. And frankly, every time a tour ended, Molly was ready for another. Her work became her life and she was seemingly okay with that fact.

Her current role consisted of assisting both her platoon and the locals with medical care in the Middle East. The likes of the Arab and Israeli conflict wasn't something that Molly was incredibly knowledgeable about and so, her job merely entailed her helping as many people as she could; she had no political stance on the matter. However, what shocked Molly the most was that most of the causalities that she dealt with were children. She had a special attachment to kiddos – she blamed the herd that she'd grown up with – and so, seeing them facing poor sanitation, sexism, abuse … it was all difficult for Molly face.

It made her life problems seem so trivial, _especially_ on a day like today.

She'd been deployed in Israel on a humanitarian mission for the past few months and was beginning to find an unexpected liking for the place. It reminded her of Afghanistan in a way. The dusty air, the bright blues skies and the endless mountains; the place was beautiful. If it weren't plagued with war, she would have been content growing old in a place like Israel. But unfortunately, the world wasn't as idealistic as Molly Dawes wanted and she'd, _clearly_ , learnt that in the hardest of ways.

A girl named Chana Lubellski had stumbled into Molly's care a few weeks ago. Molly and her new platoon, section six, had been out establishing relationships with locals. The objective of her mission had purely been to create a rapport between natives in order for them to trust that the British Army did not come bearing hostility. Whilst doing so, Molly had encountered upon Chana.

She was the epitome of everything wholesome in the fucked-up world of war; the equivalent to Bashira in Molly's mind. With the fairest of skin and yet the brightest of eyes, Chana always reminded Molly of Snow White. She looked like a princess, both beautiful and innocent. The only difference was that Chana was not as loved as the beloved Western fairy-tale character that Molly had once cherished. There was no Prince Charming in the world that Chana had grown up in – just the monsters that plagued Molly's nightmares.

Thanks to the assistance of translators, Molly had learnt that at the tender age of ten, Chana, a girl of a Jewish background, had lost her parents whilst migrating to the Golan Heights region. They had been ambushed by police for no apparent reason to her and she'd been thrown into a refugee camp. The poor conditions in the camp had resulted in her falling putty into the hands of some horrible people and without protection from her parents, Chana was quick bait. She'd been victim of sexual assault and animalistic violence from guards for years. And, now, at thirteen years old, Chana was heavily pregnant.

Besides the protruding bump on the young girl's frame, the first thing Molly had noticed when she saw her was the fear in her eyes. There was this redness in her cheeks that never seemed to fade, a sight that Molly was all too familiar with. Because, Molly's face did the exact same thing when she cried. And, over the past year, Molly had cried her fair share. Instantly, sympathising with the girl's plight, Molly had taken her into her care. But not before Chana had cowered into her hold as they had passed one of the patrols men on the grounds of the camp. His eyes followed them creepily as they walked, and Molly found a shiver run down her spine. He was older – older than Molly – with a tinge of greying hair at the sides of his face. If Molly had faced him back in London, she would have pegged him for a pervert; the likes of one of her ex-boyfriend's uncles or some sort. But Chana wasn't just creeped out by this man as they walked past him, she had been terrified. And in that moment, she hadn't had to stay anything – Molly had figured it all out on her own.

The guard was her rapist; the father of her unborn child.

Since that moment, Molly hadn't been able to get the man's face out of her head. She couldn't understand how somebody could be so evil. Chana was just a child and he'd violated her in the worst viable way imaginable.

But, like most things, there was the tiniest ray of light at the end of the tunnel. Because Chana was an infectiously _good_ human being, a characteristic that her name suggested. Chana translated to the English word, grace, and she embodied everything that the word connoted. Many locals spotted the distinguishable uniform of a foreign soldier and immediately expressed their distaste. Molly had had things thrown at her, one man had even spit at her, but Chana was nothing of that sort. Despite her tragic childhood, Chana had a smile that could light up any room. She would smile and laugh and from what Molly could see, she was incredibly bright. Within the space of weeks, Chana could hold a conversation in English that half the tossers in her region couldn't do. And Molly was in awe of her, in awe of how she could forget about the trauma she had had to face and still be so darn respectful.

"Morning, Molly." It was an expression Chana had picked up from fellow medics and without a doubt, every time Chana spotted Molly – day or night – she wished her good morning. It was rather comical but without a doubt, Molly would reciprocate the greeting just to see the girl's face brighten. It was usually after these moments where Molly felt sick. She would think about happy Chana being forced onto a bed so that a filthy man could have his way with her.

But, that sickness had passed - now all Molly felt was an ache, a sadness that she'd once felt as she'd watched Bashira being sent to Kabul without a chance to say goodbye. But ultimately, Chana wasn't Bashira. From what Molly had heard last, Bashira was thriving in school and as safe as could be; a liberty that Chana was not awarded with. Because, as of a few hours ago, she had had died during child birth, the baby along with her. Her body hadn't been able to handle the whole trauma of it all and Molly had been there, holding her hand as it had all tragically unfolded.

"For … you, _muter_." Chana had chocked whilst on her death bed, handing her the Star of David necklace that she treasured dearly around her neck. It had been a possession of her mother's and now it rested around Molly's neck alongside the thread that still held the engagement ring that Smurf had given her.

Molly fingered the chains absentmindedly with a deep sadness resting within her. Just like with Smurf, Molly had witnessed as the last embers of life had left Chana's eyes.

It was this unconventional situation where Molly began to think of her own children again. She was sat by the empty delivery bed, Chana's body now gone. Despite this, Molly couldn't bring herself to move. Her mind kept conjuring up the image of Chana alive a few hours ago. Her laughter was fresh in her ears and Molly tried to keep the strangled sobs from escaping the back of her throat. She imagined if she had a child, _a daughter_ , she'd be like Chana.

"Molly, I'm so sorry." Molly's Commanding Officer, Captain Adams, placed a hand to her shoulder, pulling her from stream of thought. Everyone knew about Molly's connection with Chana and they empathised with her greatly following the girl's untimely death. However, Molly was still on duty and there were more important matters at hand. "But, we're going to need you in the mess hall at twenty thirty hours. Get some dinner whilst you can, will ya?"

"Yes, sir." With tears still in her eyes and a puffiness to her cheeks, Molly made her way to the mess hall. She was trying so hard to seem put together, but it wasn't working. Everything around her moved slowly and the simple thought of ration food made her stomach lurch. But like the good private that she was, Molly made her way to the mess hall. She sat in a hidden corner with a glass of water in her hands, her fingers shaking every time she lifted the flimsy cup to her mouth.

It was like she was in a movie, Chana's laughter ringing in her ear over and over again, like those creepy horror soundtracks. As the sunlight bled into hues of orange and blue outside, all Molly wanted to do was scream, scream at it to stop but she knew if she need, it would make it real … all traces of Chana would suddenly just evaporate. And, Molly wasn't sure if she could handle that, not right now at least. Her wounds were too fresh. Chana had been a friend, a saviour to Molly in some form, and she couldn't let go … not right now. Molly had always had to be the person that let go first. She had lost her family when joining the army, lost her friends, lost Smurf … _Charlie_. And for once in her life, Molly didn't want to let go. So, she coped with it; the laughter that was screeching from within her. Molly listened, distraught, to her mind's cruel remembrance of Chana until it was interrupted by her CO. As Captain Adams spoke to the whole of section six, Molly felt the laughter quieten down and a sudden panic arose within her chest.

 _Chana was gone._

With an increased heart rate and a sudden clamminess in her hands, Molly's body began to shake. It was a tremble at first but then it felt like a weight being forced upon her chest. She was having a panic attack. In that fraction of a moment, she almost thought she was Chana. She could envision that creepy old man on top of her, his weight pressing down against her chest and Molly couldn't handle it. She felt disgusting or disgusted (or both) She hated that that one man had resulted in the death of such a precious human being. She hated that she'd been unable to save her. And the weight of both those things made Molly feel suffocated. She scrambled at the air, forcing the imaginary figure off of her before racing out of the mess hall for some air.

As the cooler night air brushed against her face, Molly felt her body begin to calm down. In the wind, she was able to recognise her surroundings and her chest heaved in and out violently until she gathered the strength to face the rest of her team. As expected, they all smiled at her as she made her way back inside. Thankfully, nobody overtly acknowledged what had happened just minutes prior, they simply nodded in her direction to see if she was okay, a gesture which Molly was appreciative of. Sadly, they had all had their own encounters with death and they knew sometimes, a few moments of freaking out was needed. Yes, they were soldiers, but they were also human, and they'd be more worried if Molly wasn't as fragged as she was.

"Sorry, sir, I jus' needed some air."

"It's alright, Dawsey." As far as CO's went, Captain Adams was a good one. He was the right level of stern but caring and right there, Molly couldn't have been more grateful for his understanding manner. "But, we need to discuss something, and I need to know if you're up for it." Captain Adams was talking at Molly, but his words were seemingly directed at the whole platoon. "Now, I know you all signed up for a humanitarian tour, but some intel has cropped up that suggests the presence of Palestinian extremism within our region. It hasn't spewed into anything significant as of yet but it's one those nip it in the bud situations. Now, the intel is being handled by American intelligence but from here on out, it's a joint operation."

"What's the intel, sir?" Clark, one of the youngest recruits, asked.

"This is where I need to know you're okay and ready to get in there, Dawes." Adams dismissed Clark by answering his question with his gaze firmly planted on Molly. "It's an immediate ring of men, assumingly, using their assertion of power to undermine the Israelis, it's the likes of corrupt police men, doctors, guards-"

"Like the one who assaulted Chana?" Molly piped up, her previous panic replaced with a sense of immediate interest.

"Exactly. Special Forces believe she was abused in an Arab controlled refugee camp simply because of her Israeli descent and she's probably not the only one. They're using children as assets of war and it needs to be stopped. Now, our jobs are to assist the US, but another platoon will be joining us in the mornin' to assist with the simultaneous humanitarian work. The Eagles make the decisions and we follow but Molly, their missions will most probably include you, if you're up for it, since you're the only one who has eye-balled some of the corrupt Arab men in power."

"It would be my pleasure, sir." Molly didn't hesitate as she spoke, her mind clouded with a need to protect all the young boys and girls who were innocent victims to a conflict that had been going on for centuries.

"Now, the rest of youse are dismissed until zero five hundred hours. Get some shut eye and we meet with the US Major after breakfast."

As Molly got up to leave with the rest of her team, Captains Adams seized her wrist, halting her movement instantly. "Are you sure you're up for this Molly, after Chana?"

"It's my job, sir, I'll be there." This wasn't Molly's first encounter of death, after all.

"There's something else we need to discuss before you sod off to bed, Dawes." Captain Adams paused, his eyes shutting almost as if he were scared to gage Molly's reaction as he spoke up again. "The platoon flying in from Cyprus tomorrow … it's two section."


	2. Chapter 2

Your reviews have been so encouraging, thank you! I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint x

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When Molly tried to sleep that night, she wasn't sure what plagued her the most; the thought of seeing Charles again or the thought of never seeing Chana again. The constant battle between the two meant that her head was all over the shop and once again, being in the confined space of her platoon quarters felt oppressive. The humidity of June in Israel was beginning to take its toll and Molly got out of bed earlier than she had expected. She tip-toed around her team before settling on a stool outside. Some of the Israeli guards on the night shift looked at her funny, their eyes questioning whether she needed anything, but she gave them a dismissive wave of her hand.

 _She was okay_ , at least in the general sense.

As she sat out there, wallowing in her thoughts, she noticed how there was just something else about admiring the grounds when everyone else was asleep. This had been home to Molly for so many months now and it was virtually indistinguishable without the frenzy of soldiers about. The sky was identifiably in its earliest shades of blue and there was the distant chatter of birds. It was ironically peaceful for an army base and for the first time that night, Molly found herself in a state of contentment.

Captivated by the new perspective of the everyday surroundings she seemed to look over, Molly didn't hear the sound of crumpling nylon as somebody else followed her out of her section's quarters. In fact, she was more than surprised when Clark, the newest recruit to the section, perched himself down beside her. She slapped a hand to her aggressively beating chest before using the other to smack Clark's arm both firmly yet playfully.

"You nearly gave us a Julius Seizure."

Clark simply laughed at Molly's attempt at a facial cocktail of humour and sternness. It was strange, over the past few months, Molly and Clark had formed an unlikely of friendships, despite her being a few years his senior. Molly didn't know why in particular, but Clark seemed to remind her of an odd crossover between her and Smurf. Without even intending to, the younger recruit always managed to get himself into some form of trouble or another. Whether he was mouthing off to the Americans – Smurf – or finding himself cornered by the locals – Molly – Clark had already experienced his hefty slice of trouble pie. And it seemed trouble followed trouble because, here the two were.

"What ya doing outta bed, Mol? You okay?" Clark was the newbie to the group and clearly wasn't okay with just a nod in Molly's direction too see if she was okay, at least not after something as big as Chana's death. He had seen their connection strengthen as the weeks went on and he couldn't comprehend what Molly must have been feeling. But it seemed like the rest of the section were used to this, the ability to turn their emotions on and off like the switch of a button. Maybe it was because Clark hadn't had somebody close to him die but, he wasn't happy rolling over when Molly's usual quirky self didn't seem wholly intact.

"I just … I needed some air."

"That the truth?" That was another thing that Molly had noticed about Clark, he was just as pushy as Smurf had been. He could tell that Molly was bullshitting him from the offset and he wasn't going to let that pass easily.

"I can't stop thinking bout' her." After a pregnant pause, Molly spoke again. The image of the adolescent was imprinted into the forefront of her brain. She could see her long black hair fanned out across a pillow; her fingers in her hand, the tears in her eyes. Molly had been helpless as doctors had announced that Chana's chances of survival were slim and in some twisted way, Molly felt guilty, guilty that she couldn't save her like she hadn't been able to save Smurf or her relationship. "My lil' sister is bout' her age an' she's always down at the park instead of at school. That's what Chana should be doin', she should be at school with the rest of the bleeders, not-" As the sentiment hit her, Molly's voice trailed off into the muggy air.

This had always been her biggest weakness – her ability to get too emotionally attached when she was deployed. Her emotional attachment to Bashira had ultimately saved her life but that mission had led to other losses, Charles' close encounter to death and the untimely demise of Smurf. And just like back then, Molly couldn't help but blame herself for Chana's death and the slow degradation of her marriage. The what ifs were swarming her head at this ungodly hour more than ever: what if she'd gotten to Chana sooner, what if she'd requested for a c-section, what if she asked Charles not to leave for tour, what if she hadn't recommended Georgie as two sections new medic. The questions were never ending, and her inner turmoil was surprisingly detected by Clark even before Molly had exited their sleeping quarters.

"It isn't your fault-" Again, Clark seemed to read Molly's mind.

"Course it is." Molly shook her head, her brunette hair falling across her face as she tried to disguise the anguish painted across her features. "I coulda tried harder, fought harder-"

"We still talking about Chana?" The weight of Clark's question made Molly's body slump with the tiredness that she knew would take its toll on her body during the day. He was right, _of course_. Her words _had_ applied to both Chana's short-lived life and her equally as short-lived marriage to Charles.

"How the fuck do you do that?" Molly sighed in clear annoyance. "Is like you can see in my brain."

Like the rest of the platoon, Clark was well aware of Molly's split from her husband. It was the _Voldemort_ equivalent in section six, something that nobody dared even joke about. But today, had been different, the boys had all been discussing the comeback of two section over dinner, all of them bubbling with an uncertain excitement that Clark couldn't relate to. Soldiers liked to gossip as much as anyone and it hadn't taken long for Clark to catch onto the fact that the new coming section was headed by Molly's cheating ex-husband.

"You're not a hard person to read." Clark nudged Molly's side with a light smile. "Besides, you're only human … running into your ex is a bit shite, whether youse are in East London or in bloody Atlantis."

"Is that in Asia? I was always a bit crap at geography." Clark thought Molly was joking for a second before he noticed the seriousness on her face. Within seconds, the laughter was rolling out of his mouth wholeheartedly and Molly was still as confused as ever, her big doe eyes widening in question. "What ya laughing at, dickhead?"

"You really are something, Molly Dawes."

After that, the pair sat in silence for a good while, just relishing in their surroundings. Their little exchange of banter had helped calm Molly down a lot more than she had anticipated and her eyes began to grow heavy with the sleep that she had been deprived of all night. However, as her eyes began to flutter shut, she felt the toxic images of Charlie and Chana cloud her vision once again.

"I'm scared, Clark." Molly's voice had been barely a whisper as she spoke but in the silence of the early hours of the morning, Clark had heard her crisp and clear. It was the first time she'd admitted it out loud, both to herself and somebody else. Even whilst at therapy, Molly had never confessed something about her marriage that made her feel so vulnerable and she didn't know why but with Clark she was comfortable. In the brief period of time that they had been friends, he had managed to understand her in a way that nobody ever had.

"Scared of what? Of him?"

"I'm scared of me-self, around him." The truth was, Molly hadn't set eyes on Charles since she'd learnt about him and Georgie and she wasn't sure what to expect. She wasn't sure what he was going to be like or how she was going to respond. Everything was up in the air and that feeling was suffocating.

"He didn't … hurt you, did he?" Clark didn't know much about the backstory of Molly's marriage, but a sudden thought drifted into his head; an image he didn't like. As sexist as it was, the misogyny against women in the army was evident and Clark didn't even consider the effects of such behaviour transcending into a marriage between people like Private Molly Dawes and Captain James.

"Not physically, _no_." Molly clarified almost instantly, the thought of linking Charlie to domestic violence felt wrong, disrespectful. Because besides the infidelity that was supposedly instigated by his mental health, Charlie had been a good husband and that's what made hating him worse. It was incredibly difficult to hate someone when there was so much _good_ alongside the bad _._ "Sometimes I wish he had."

"Molly!" Clark was practically outraged by her admittance, his hands reaching over to seize her shoulders. He shook her a few times, as if trying to remind her of her worth, before she finally tried to form a coherent explanation for her controversy.

"It'd be easier to flip 'im the bird and tell 'im to do one if he'd hit me."

"Do you still love him?"

"I …" That was a question Molly had never considered and she paused in deep thought. Her feelings had changed noticeably since she'd found out Charles had cheated but deep down, she couldn't muster the courage to say she hated him either. She had seen how valuable life was having lived in places ridden with war and she couldn't bear to hold a significant grudge weighted by the word hate, more so for her own well-being than Charlie's. "I don't actually know and that scares me. I should hate the tosser, shouldn't I? He slept with me mate."

"That's only something you can decide, Mol. You can't always help how you feel."

"Since when were you such a wise ass about love, huh?"

"I loved someone once." There was just something about that moment where Clark and Molly felt at ease; their deepest, most reserved thoughts finally surfacing. There were no interruptions from the rest of their platoon or sudden duty calls. Since what felt like forever, there was quiet, and calmness and it was easy for the two to get lost in it.

"What happened?"

"Life happened." Clark shrugged elusively, his words holding a finality that Molly knew all too well. She didn't question him further either. He had shared what he had been comfortable with and that was fine with her. His statement had been enough, incredibly sacred, and they both lulled into a silence that was like homely hug to them both.

They sat like that for hours, neither of them uttering a word. They watched in astonishment as the sun crept into the sky, warm yellow hues melting into the folds of the night's dark blue. In their world, everything was always _go go go_ and for once, it was nice to appreciate something as mundane as the beginning of a new day.

"That's baffling." Molly was the first to break their silence, her eyes adjusting to the brightness of the early morning sunrise. "That that happens every morn when we're slagging off in bed."

"I've never been awake this early to see it like that. Makes us feel so small, don't it?"

And _it did_ , make Molly feel small. Her worries about seeing Charlie again seemed so trivial in comparison to the magnitude of something as significant as the sun and unlike what she'd felt when she'd walked outside earlier, a sudden drive kicked into Molly's system. It was the same drive that had pushed her to succeed at Keough, the same gut instinct to do something good in the world. It was the feeling she'd been harbouring the past year: the gut-wrenching desire to do well at her job.

With a sudden kick of determination up her backside, Molly set her eyes on a goal that she'd lost sight of momentarily – taking down the sick men who were hurting the likes of girls like Chana for their own political gain.

"Wanna go for a run or summin? Before the rest of the lot wake up?" Molly bounced on the balls of her feet as she envisioned sucker punching Chana's rapist in the gut over and over. She knew her need for revenge would get her nowhere, kind of like it had with Smurf and the Taliban, but Molly was hoping her violent desire could be channelled into the pursuit of stopping terrorising men within the region.

"Sure, haven't stretched these bad boys in a while." Clark groaned as he got up off the tiny plastic stool, his long limbs cracking as he did. His blonde curls sat atop his head messily and he combed his fingers through his hair whilst Molly adjusted her bedtime tank and gym shorts.

"Race ya to the mess hall, loser!" Before Clark could even figure out what was occurring, Molly's hair was up in a high ponytail and she was sprinting off into the dusty foreground.

"Why you little cockney shit." Molly was a good few metres in front of him and Clark huffed impatiently as he chased her around the empty base.

However, the base wasn't empty for long. As the tails on wristwatches ticked closer and closer to five, the silent camp was disrupted by the audible arrival of a new platoon. Two section arrived at their new army base in Israel with a resonating groan. They had been eager to leave the Cyprus heat only to be introduced to a climate that was three times hotter than the one they had been complaining about. As soon as they stepped off their helicopter, there was unanimous uproar as they were told they needed to put down their gear and be in the ops room within twenty minutes.

"Is like a sauna ou' here." Fingers wiped his sweaty palm against his fellow soldiers' uniform.

"Make sure you stay hydrated, boys!" Captain Charles James instructed his section as he himself rubbed the sweat from his now permanently frowning brow. Ever since learning of their group mission with section six, Charles had been a bundle of tight muscles and butterflies. Despite having separated from Molly, he had always kept an ear out for her in the grape vine. Even though he'd been the screw up in their relationship, and he probably had no right to, Charles found the weight on his chest lessen when he heard that Molly was doing well. But hearing about her and _seeing her_ were two completely different things.

In all honesty, he had been, _seeing her_ , that is, every time he closed his eyes. The image of her after their official breakup was the thing that haunted him the most. All memories of her infectious smile had evaporated and all he seemed to remember was the gentle drop of her mouth and the stream of tears as she stood before him wordlessly. She hadn't screamed or sobbed loudly, the house had been eerily quiet, her usual chattery gob was no longer wagging and that had petrified Charles.

 _He had broken her._

And now, after all these months, he wasn't sure what to anticipate from the enigma that had become Molly Dawes. He wasn't sure if she'd cry again. He couldn't handle it if she did. Every fibre in his being had reached out to comfort her that dreaded day when things had ended, and she'd flinched at his touch as if he'd burnt her. But then again, he didn't know if she would be angry, because truthfully, she'd never really been outwardly angry. He had been prepared for a slap, maybe a punch or two to his shiner but – nothing. The feisty Molly Dawes that he loved – _that he still loved –_ had done the unexpected and said nothing. But somehow, her silence had been more painful than any hit could have been. The disappointment and betrayal was clear on her face and it had killed Charles knowing he'd been the one to put it there. It killed him even more to think of her living life and succeeding without him being by her side.

"You alright, boss?" As the rest of the boys followed directions from the resident Captain Adams, Fingers lingered behind to get his words in with James. Having been under Charles' command for years now, Fingers had become more than just another one of the lads … he was a _friend._ And regardless of everything scandalous that had unfolded between Molly and his Captain, Fingers had remained a friend to them both. He hadn't agreed with Charles' actions and he never sugar coated what he did when they discussed it but from the look of despair on Charlie's face, Fingers knew he just needed to be a friend right now, his moral compass pushed aside.

"Go settle with your platoon, soldier." With his metaphorical Captain hat on, Charles ordered Fingers dismissively, his order ignoring the question of concern.

"Come on, boss. You don't look okay-"

"Fingers!" Captain James felt the prominent frown on his forehead grow bigger. He had never been one to discuss his feelings and he surely wasn't ready to compromise any of his section by reeling in his relationship insecurities. Apart from the treacherous day with Badrai and the days following Elvis' death, Charles had never presented himself as weak in front of his platoon and he didn't plan on it now. Showing emotion was a sign of weakness and he couldn't do that, not when he had a platoon to run. They were on duty and he was going to stay as professional as possible, regardless of his thoughts about Molly.

"Fine, don't tell me." Fingers frowned heavily and turned around without looking in the direction he was going. His first few steps had been abrupt and at a quick pace, so much so that his body forcefully collided with something he hadn't been expecting … or _someone_. They had been coming at him at a frenzied speed and Fingers moaned as an elbow hit him square in the chest. The whole ordeal occurred within the matter of seconds with no chance of it being stopped. It was a big collision of bodies and sandy dust.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph." As soon as the words were said out loud, an aura of awkwardness filled the open space.

 _"Molly."_ The person Fingers had bumped into - it was Molly, and Charles had been the first to notice; he would have recognised that Cockney accent anywhere.

As her name slipped his lips, Molly's head snapped upwards. She'd practically given her self-whip-lash, she had moved that quickly. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Molly gazed into the deep brown eyes of the man she had once loved more than life itself.


	3. Chapter 3

This chapter bounces back between past and present tense a lot so please let me know if this is hard to follow or if you like it and I'll keep it in mind for future chapters. Also, your reviews make my day! I'm glad to see you guys are enjoying the story so far x

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There was something about Charles' piercing gaze that transported Molly back in time. Everything else around seemed to fade and it was just the two of them. Gone was the ache in Molly's torso as she smacked into Fingers and non-existent was the sound of Clark's heavy panting in her ear as they ran. With Charlie's eyes on her, Molly was lifted back to a time in Bath.

It had been a happy place for them and their love story. It was where the _sincere_ fundamentals of their relationship had formed. Their first date, their first time together – their proposal. With all of this in mind, they had chosen Bath as their wedding destination, despite Charles' insistence that they have the ceremony in London. London had never truly felt like Molly's home, especially since after joining the army. She still remembered her first rest and recuperation session; the desire to leave London again had surfaced as soon as she'd stepped through her cramped and chaotic threshold. It was why she'd spent most of her time away in Newport. And as a result, Molly had no ties to London, at least not in the gravely sentimental sense like Charles had to Bath. He'd had years and years of magical Christmas', walks down by the river with his parents, the earliest memories with his son. It felt incredibly wrong not to have their wedding ceremony in a place that Charlie cherished so dearly.

In fact, they'd even had their ceremony in the church that his parents had gotten married in. Molly had never been overly religious, but she still found herself in awe of the older structure that was adorned in oil paintings and intricate stain glass windows. It was a church that was quintessentially traditional and lavish, and it was quite truly the furthest thing from what Molly had imagined for her future one day. From an early age, Molly had just figured she wasn't cut out for marriage – her only real example being the rocky relationship between her parents. She'd never valued the importance of a piece of paper and a ring on her finger. So, a church as opulent as the one they had picked for their wedding day felt surreal. In fact, the whole experience was surreal. Charles' mum, Elizabeth, had taken Molly to one of those fancy wedding dress shops where the bride was handed a glass of champagne as she was helped through the endless racks of designer gowns. Then followed the counselling with a Catholic priest and hours and hours of foods tastings.

And the icing on the cake had been how loving and caring Charles had been through it all. He knew she was new to all of this and he'd done nothing but been supportive. Having had shitty relationships – like the one with Artan – in the past, Molly hadn't had any of this adoration before. She had never felt wanted or appreciated and it was safe to say she was putty in Charlie's hands. Every morning they'd wake up in bed together and he'd stare at her with the same intensity he was now; his fingers playing with the loose hairs plastered to her forehead. Without a doubt, he'd tell her he loved her every morning which she obviously responded to with a, " _ditto."_

That was one of the many things that had become something of _theirs._ Alongside owning the stage whilst singing _'Don't Go Breaking My Heart.'_ It had first started out as a laugh during her first tour in Afghan but had later turned into something strangely touching. There had been many a time when Molly and Charles had drunkenly made a show of themselves in front of family and friends, Charles winking shamelessly at her as she sang her parts rather atrociously.

It was hard not to smile at a memory as comical as that one but before she could, Fingers' attempt to hug Molly forced her out of her nostalgic reverie. His touch was like ice cold water thrown at her head and she finally remembered where she was and what situation she had been thrust into. Her body came hurtling back into the present day and despite wanting to cling to all of the good, the reality was bleak, one where the protagonists in her head didn't get the happy ending that she wanted them to have.

Because the truth was that Charles wasn't the ideal man in her head anymore. He didn't get to tease her about her singing or caress her hair as she slept because _he'd_ messed up and sooner or later, Molly needed to accept that fact head on.

"Dawsey!" Ignoring the dark cloud that had settled over her happy memories, Molly turned to smile at her old friend who like, the resident comedian that he'd always been, was eager to crack a joke. "I know I'm 'andsome and all but you don't need to fall for me that hard."

"Oh, in your dreams, mate."

"It's really good to see you, Mols."

"You too, fingers." Molly chuckled before letting Fingers envelope her into a hug. As she did so, she tried her hardest to ignore the weight of Charles' stare on her.

He didn't mean to stare, he'd promised himself he wouldn't make her unnecessarily uncomfortable, but it was hard to look away from her. Molly Dawes was as beautiful as ever but there were evident changes in her appearance over the past year. Charles knew her unlike anybody else and he was readily able to detect all the good that the Israeli sun had seemed to do to her. Her skin was glossy with a sheen that Charlie presumed was sweat but there was a radiant glow to it, a golden tan that had sedimented the fact that it was boiling hot in Israel. In consequence, the bottoms of her hair had lightened as well, her brunette hair now almost a dirty blonde colour in the sun. All these new things made Charlie feel exactly the same as he did when she'd return from tour or vice versa; that desire to grab her and pull her into his arms was prevalent. It was like his mind was playing tricks on him as well, the scent of her tropical shampoo wafting over his senses tauntingly. And when she broke out into a smile – one that sadly wasn't directed at him – her beguiling teeth lit up the intimate atmosphere that they were in. It was like the jolt of an electric current, demanding your full attention.

"Dawes, Clark." The authoritative voice of Captain Adams pulled Molly away from Fingers, the two section six soldiers standing in positions of attention to their Commanding Officer. "At ease. What are you guys doin' outta bed so early?"

"Just on a run, sir." Molly answered immediately. Like always, she tried to channel her emotion into her work and she gave Captain Adams her full focus.

"Well, get your gear on and meet us in the ops room in ten."

"I'll pop my stilettos on then, shall I?" Clark joked, and Molly punched his arm, her gesture embodying how lame she thought his quip was. "I've 'ad enough of your sass this mornin', Molly. Don't think I've forgotten about you cheating."

"Cheating? Me? As if." Molly couldn't help but let the double meaning bleed into her tone of voice, her facial expression staying completely naïve. However, she noticed Charles' eyes narrow slightly. He had always been good at hiding his emotions, but Molly had lived with him for what felt like a lifetime. She knew about everyone of his little habits, one of which was squinting when he was irritated. So, before anybody else could catch onto the deeper meaning behind her remark, the idea for a quick exit flew into Molly's mind. "Bet you can't beat me to the quarter." Once again, Molly ambushed Clark and went sprinting off into the distance that she had just come hurtling into Fingers from.

"I'm gonna kill her." Clark waved at Fingers clumsily, even though they hadn't had a proper introduction before he went running after Molly for the second time that morning.

Charlie watched Molly and her fellow soldier run off into and felt a jealous longing grow in the depths of his chest. Her faint laughter blended into the sound of the wind and he so desperately wished for her to come back, for her to laugh like that like she once had with him.

"Go get ready, Fingers." Despite Charles' cold tone, Fingers hesitated a little. He had seen the effect that the separation from Molly had had on Captain James. He was sterner, _sadder_. And yes, he had always been pretty stern but the Captain who once did karaoke with his platoon was gone. There was never a ghost of a smile on his face or the hopefulness that arose in everybody at the end of a tour. It was evident that Charles James had lost all purpose after Molly Dawes had walked out of his life.

"Sir-" The earlier mocking tone that Fingers had possessed with Molly had disappeared and he tried his best to be a good friend. He was going to ask Charlie if he was okay but before he could, Charlie shut him down again.

"Now!" And this time, Fingers didn't argue back to Charles' order. He walked away wordlessly, leaving the two reigning captains, Charles, and Michael Adams, alone. The two men walked silently towards the ops room until Adams cleared his throat and began registering the elephant in the room.

"Look Captain James, I don't mean to be forward, but I would like to address this topic before we get into the more serious business." Michael knew he was treading on thin ice regarding Molly and Charles' marriage and was attempting to be careful with his choice of words. The last thing he wanted to do was piss off another CO but at the end of the day, his priority was his section and that meant prioritising Molly's wellbeing. "Molly is an asset to my team and I care for her. I would like to know now if us working together is going to be an issue."

"I can assure you, Captain, Molly and I are adults and capable of being nothing but professional." At least _that_ was the plan but deep down, Charles knew that was probably unlikely. His everlasting stare down with Molly had been proof of that. They hadn't seen each other in over a year and there wasn't a chance that he was going to just act like she was another one of the lads. They still needed to have a conversation and it was most likely going to occur soon. He _needed_ to talk to her, to apologise; to see what she was feeling. He hadn't been able to put a hold on his feelings during their first tour and the next three months in Israel would realistically turn out to be the same.

"She's at the forefront of this mission, James, and I don't want your marital issues to put anyone in danger, understood?"

"If you don't mind me asking, Sir, _why_ is Molly so important to this mission?" Molly's ability to get herself into trouble had always worried Charlie. She had a knack for landing herself in difficult situations and it was something he thought about often. But, unlike Molly's previous reverie, Charlie's wasn't one that reminisced on the good memories. It was something he thought about way too often, something that always made his blood run cold and his heart pound profoundly from within him – _the time he almost lost her._

It was a good few years ago and as a result of his injuries in Afghan during their first tour together, Charlie's deployments had been stilted up until his and Molly's wedding. Most of his days were spent idly gardening and renovating the old home that he'd grown up in, just waiting for her to come back. And he'd been doing exactly that when he'd gotten the call. A call that every soldier's family feared getting. Since their engagement, Molly had changed her emergency contact from Belinda to Charles, meaning that he was the first person they called if something went wrong.

"May I speak to Captain Charles James?" The monotone voice on the phone was enough to send Charles into a panic. He was all too familiar with the tone of voice that Mrs Smith had used to talk to him about Garent's funeral once upon a time.

"Speaking." Charles replied back with a need for urgency that made him hold the stairway bannister for support. "Is everything okay? Molly-"

"Miss Dawes' section was shot at on their way to Bastion during the early hours of this morning. She sustained a bullet wound to her left side. She is currently in a stable condition as of right now and will be sent home if she continues to do so for an early recovery." As the emotionless voice spoke about all of the technicalities that were required of Charlie, he found himself falling onto a step. His breathing was laboured and there was a loud ringing in his ear. He was still listening intently, but the burning image of a bloody and alone Molly was all he could see.

"Bring her back to me." Charles had pleaded at the end of the call, not like a soldier himself but like Molly's heartbroken fiancé.

And true to their word, Molly had flown back to England within the space of three days. Belinda along with the whole of Molly's clan were at the airport with Charles as they unloaded Molly off the aircraft in a stretcher. She looked absolutely miserable but there was a visible glint in her eyes as she spotted her family – _Charles._ As soon as paramedics were out of the way, he had seized her hand with silent tears forming in his eyes.

"Oi, you muppet, stop it, I'm fine." She had stroked his hand with her thumb like he had done to her many a time; her usual unphased grin unloading the heavy weight he'd been harbouring for what felt like an eternity.

"I thought I'd lost you." Charles all but chocked the words out. He'd had nightmares everyday since that phone call. He tried to envision a life without Molly and he simply couldn't. He couldn't fathom a world where she just didn't exist.

"Ditto."

"Marry me."

"I _am_ marrying you, you weirdo." As if to prove a point, Molly pushed her chin in towards her chest to show off the string necklace that held his engagement ring on it. Unlike the string with Smurf's ring, Charles' was longer, the string stopping rather cornily on the same level as her heart.

"I mean now." Charles walked alongside Molly's gurney as they helped move her into a wheelchair for added comfort. Once she was done with slobbery kisses from the kids and a long hug from her Mum, Charles asked her again, this time, taking the ring from around her neck and slipping it onto her rightful finger. " _Marry me_ , Molly Dawes."

"I'm not marrying you now. I stink." Molly crinkled her nose and Charles all but dropped to his knees in prayer at the fact that she seemed to be like her normal, comedic self, despite the gaping wound to her torso.

Nevertheless, Molly's flesh wound had been eye opener for the pair. They clung to one another for the first couple of days until Molly had an epiphany. She didn't know why they were waiting out for a summer wedding. She hated getting her hair done in the overbearing heat and she didn't even want to get started on all the insects that would be flying around. So, they pulled the wedding date forward. In a matter of weeks, she went from being injured and lying flat on a bed to being Mrs Molly James. And Charles' rapid need to get married had consolidated something for Molly's in those weeks, she had learnt that her stupidity on the field had consequences for both herself and now Charlie.

But as Charlie thought over that fact in his head, he realised that she probably no longer thought of him when she made rapid decisions on duty. He was no longer the last one that she wanted to see and that made him nervous. It made him worry for her safety even more than before. Because Molly had always been impulsive and strong willed and without any serious ties back in the UK, she was free to be as reckless as she had been when she'd ran through a minefield to get to an injured Smurf. "Has Molly been compromised?"

"Doesn't matter, Captain. I just need to know that you have her safety in mind rather than whatever's going on behind closed doors."

"With all due respect, Sir, I know I've been a shitty husband, but I want _you_ to know that I'd never compromise Molly's safety, _ever_."

"Good to hear, James." The two men who had obvious soft spots for Molly nodded in agreement before stepping into the mess hall that was gradually filling up with members of two section and section six. Charles sat on the side with a cup of his trusty coffee whilst he let Captain Adams get ready. He was the Captain heading these upcoming missions, despite their equal titles and for now, Charles was just like the rest of the Privates, oblivious.

"You alright, cockwombles?" Molly's presence was announced before she entered the dining room and she was instantly attacked by the group of men from two section. They all crowded her with a hug but as they pulled away, she remembered how _cockwombles_ had been a term that Charles had used, and she cleared her throat awkwardly before perching herself - much to two section's protest - amongst her new platoon. Section six greeted her with equally as open arms, Clark and a soldier nicknamed Stones, slinging their arms around her shoulders.

"At ease, Privates. Now that our little reunions are over with." Captain Adams ushered to Molly with a mocking squint to his eye. "Shall we get down to business?"

"Sir." The room resonated with a collective agreement as everyone's professional personas came to play.

"Until we receive word from US Intelligence on what comes next, work here will continue as intended. That means mock exercises on base and a few of you out with locals in order to help with medical and sanitary care." In summary, the humanitarian work didn't require two platoons' undivided attention and for some, Adam's orders seemed like a light days work. But Adams being Adams was quick to snub that thought out of everyone's minds. "That doesn't mean we'll tolerate any slackers. We could be called out onto duty at any time which means I need you clued on at all times of the day. Are we understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Now go get yourselves fed and prepped for obstacle courses in an hour." The male centric room cheered gleefully at the mention of food, all of them turning towards the buffet set up behind them. "Dawes, a word, please." Captain Adams used his pointer finger to signal her over and she chuckled at his luring gesture with a roll of her eyes.

"Sir?"

"How you doing Dawes?" Molly looked at Captain Adams funnily, her mind not really comprehending his question. "After everything, _yesterday_?"

"I'm fine, Captain." Molly tried to sound reassuring, a fake smile plastered across her face brightly. Truthfully, she wasn't all that fine. She obviously hadn't been able to sleep, and Charles had thrown a spanner into the works. She had moments where she thought of Chana's death and she felt helpless. And then she'd think of Charles again and the way his presence also made her feel helpless. It was a frenzy of unwanted emotions all at once.

"Look, I'm giving you a free pass today." Captain Adams, like any other good Commanding Officer, understood the importance of both physical and mental health when in the army. "I just want you to spend some time with two section's medic. Talk about everything or nothing if that's what'll do ya. Just take it easy before everything goes tits up, okay?"

Molly was going to protest but she held her mouth. She knew if she protested it would be a greater sign of her incapability to join the field again, something which she couldn't afford. If everything in her life was making her feel helpless, she was going to have to do something about it. And that meant getting justice for Chana and all the other children like her - that was the only thing that Molly had left.


	4. Chapter 4

Your feedback has all been so lovely, I'm at a loss for words! Thank you for your kind reviews, they honestly do make my day!

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When Molly thought of a counselling session with section two's medic, her stomach began to churn violently. For a fraction of a second, she thought the medic was still Georgie. Images of Charles and Georgie tangled up together made her feel physically sick, her insecurities surfacing. But they slowly started to fade once reality sunk back in. After learning of Georgie and Charles' fornication, Officials had separated the two. In fact, Molly hadn't heard anything from Georgie in over a year. That realisation calmed her down a little as she grabbed some muesli in a bowl and headed towards her quarters for some alone time.

Staring at the ceiling of her quarter, Molly picked at the muesli absentmindedly. She was eating more for the sake of eating rather than hunger; her mind spacing out as she considered what it was that she wanted to reveal to her makeshift psychiatrist. She did this before every session that the army required her to attend, battling between what she needed to reveal and what would make her sound sane. Telling a medic that she couldn't sleep or that she was still hearing Chana's laughter in her head was a cause for concern; something which Molly couldn't afford. She needed to get the perfect balance between mourning and okay if she wanted to capture the likes of Chana's abuser. If Adams caught onto even the slightest bit of mental instability she knew she was going to be on the first flight home.

But it was _difficult_ , finding that middle ground. Because truthfully, Molly felt unstable. With Charles' presence and Chana's absence, Molly was all over the shop and she didn't like how that made her feel.

"Mols." At first, Molly _really_ thought she was going insane and had imagined Charlie's voice. It was husky and quiet, almost like when he'd wake her up in the mornings in Bath. But as his tall frame ducked under the nylon cover-up, Molly froze. Because for once, this wasn't just a figment of her imagination, he was _here._ "Israel's hot, huh? I thought Cyprus was bad." As per usual, Charles' first attempt at conversation was completely off topic from what he actually wanted to say. He had a knack for rambling before he got to the point. It had been the same when Molly had learnt of his first marriage to Rebecca. She had been giving him the silent treatment until Charlie had ushered Smurf out of the room so that he could explain things to Molly. He had gone on and on about their position in the mountains and about how they were an easy target if they were attacked from the South until he finally made a declaration that had changed everything – _'all I want is to make you happy.'_

And as if history were repeating itself, Molly initially intended to ignore Charles like she had that first time. Suddenly, her breakfast bowl was as enticing as ever, and she fiddled with it without meeting his gaze. "I just-" Charles' voice trailed off and he stepped forward, only for Molly to respond and step backwards. He hated that, hated that he'd pushed her away to such an extent. She had once been comforted by his touch, his gentle strokes of her cheek had been enough to stop her influx of tears when she was worried. But now, she couldn't even stand to be in the immediate proximity of him. It was like a sucker punch to the gut. "I fucked up, Mol and I just … wanted to say I'm sorry."

"Sorry don't change nothing." Molly hated the word _sorry._ It meant nothing in the grand scheme of life. Sorry didn't erase the past, didn't take back all the nights that Molly had spent beating herself up over her failed marriage. That one word wouldn't change a _single_ thing – her husband had still wanted fuck Georgie more than he had wanted their marriage to work.

"Can we talk, _properly_?"

"No." Molly ran a hand through her hair and turned away from Charles completely.

For months, she'd been trying to get over him. She'd done everything in her power to forget about the past few years. At first, she'd done a Dave – her good for nothing father - and sought the comfort of alcohol. During the earliest periods of her rest and recuperation following their breakup, Molly Dawes had felt like a teenager again. She was the Molly who worked at the nail bar; no obligations, no worries. Molly would get drunk, sleep around and then roll into her flat with the world's biggest hangover and a large cloud of regret looming over her. That period of her life was messy and depressing but it stopped her from overthinking. There was no time for her to second guess what she'd done wrong for two people she loved to betray her like they had. As a consequence, the drunk and promiscuous cycle went on for a few weeks before Jackie sat her down for the mother of all brutal interventions.

"Molly, this isn't healthy." Jackie was stood before what looked like a half dead Molly. Her face was still adorned with last night's makeup and she had haphazardly thrown a loose shirt over her skimpy dress. The cherry on the cake was the fact that the scent of spiced rum lingered around her. "You can't keep doing this to yourself."

"Doing what-" Naivety was Molly's forte but even she couldn't play dumb to the mess that had now become her normal way of life.

" _Don't_!" Jackie hadn't even left any room for Molly to defend her actions because she knew this behaviour wasn't conventional of her friend. This wasn't the girl who went on secret missions and came back with a bloody mouth, pretending as if it was nothing. This was a stranger. A stranger who had purposefully danced around the sensitive topic of the negative pregnancy test that Jackie had stumbled across in the bathroom bin just mere minutes ago. "Mols, this isn't _you._ Please don't let that _asshole_ dictate your life decisions."

"I'm not." Molly tried to deny it over and over again until Jackie hit her with the truth that she needed to hear out loud.

"So, the pregnancy test, that was just … what?" Molly fell into a silence which Jackie continued to fill. "I know you were starting to think of kids and startin' a family but going about it, like this, isn't okay."

As Jackie spoke, Molly felt the metaphorical light bulb go off over her head. She knew was neither that carefree eighteen-year-old nor the content married woman anymore and deep down, she knew better than to be the unprepared one with an impending pregnancy on her hands.

In actuality, she hadn't really thought much of her nausea over those past few weeks. She had first blamed it on the copious amounts of alcohol she had consumed as of recently. Also, she pegged it on the fact that she hadn't had a proper bit of nosh in weeks, her bloodstream running thick with equal quantities of rum, vodka and gin. But as the days progressed and the sickness still stuck, Molly began to presume the worst. The voice in the back of her head, that sounded strangely like her nan, kept nagging her to take a test and finally, she'd conceded. But not before crying her eyes out on the floor of her tiny en-suite bathroom. She'd blamed it on the stench of bleach, but she _knew_ – even without having to admit it to herself – she was crying because she was having to forcefully face reality. The reality of her potential unborn baby being fathered by a stranger or worse - _Charles._

And then instantaneously, Molly's worry had flipped into anger; anger at herself. But it had all been so easy, the alcohol and the endless string of men helping numb her pain. She didn't have to think about anyone other than herself and for once, it was liberating. But as soon as the effect wore off and the reality of potentially being pregnant sunk in, Molly knew it all needed to come to an end. She was in no position to take care of herself, let alone a child and she knew she couldn't let the life she'd built for herself spiral downwards. It was that harsh intervention with Jackie alongside the negative pregnancy test that had pushed her in the direction of the local college instead of the local pub.

And school had been an easy distraction. Then came a handful of tours that had demanded her full attention but now, that she was here, with _him,_ Molly needed that sambuca fuelled numbness again. She didn't want to delve into the details that had broken her heart all those months ago. She didn't want to think about Georgie and Charles together, didn't want to think about how much she missed her step-son, Sam, and his generous laughter. She wanted to ghost past all of it and focus on work like she had been doing for what felt like an eternity.

"Molly-"

"Don't." Molly held up her hand and stepped backwards even further, the backs of her knees pressing against the bed adjacent to her. "Don't Molly me."

"We're here for the next three months, and I just … I want to know you're okay."

It was selfish of Charles and he knew it, to demand things of her when he'd been the one to blame for the distance between them. But he couldn't focus solely on his job when he knew Molly walked around hating him. It was why he had taken such a long time out before going on a tour since the dreaded discussion of their divorce.

"I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?" Like she had been experiencing since his arrival, Molly felt a serious sense of déjà vu envelope her and she tried to push back the tears that were brimming in her eyes. She had said the exact same back in Afghan; back when their lives seemed so much easier. Back when his only defect had been holding out on the truth, something that was easily forgotten amidst the weight of war and his addictive lips.

"You're going into therapy, Molly." Charles hadn't meant to be listening to her conversation with Captain Adams earlier, but he hadn't been able to stop himself. He felt like he did with Sam, desperate to protect and shield her from the world. With the obvious having been stated, and despite her reluctance for him be anywhere near her, Charles edged closer stealthily as he continued to speak. "Just _talk_ to me, tell me what's going on." 

"Talk to you?" This time, little bouts of anger fizzled into Molly's tone, her fists clenching and unclenching. He had no right, _none_ , to ask her to talk to him when he'd failed to do the exact same thing. "Like you did to me before Belize? All those fucking calls, emails-"

"I was a mess then. Elvis-" Charles huffed out some air as the name of his best friend left his lips.

Elvis had been like his brother, the best man at both his weddings. He was an exceptional man who had made some poor choices, but ultimately, he had been one of the good guys. A guy who had deserved a lot better and in some fucked up way, Charlie felt guilty pursuing a happy marriage when Elvis had never gotten that liberty. Elvis had found a love in Georgie that he had been compelled to give up once learning about Lauren, his daughter. And then finally, he had been so close to his happy ending. He'd established a peace with Georgie and their relationship, only for it all to be ripped from him again. It was then that Charles had vowed to take care of Georgie. A sudden need to protect her had consumed him – _blinded him_ – and he'd been unable to distinguish between what was real and what was in his head. It had only been until after he'd slept with Georgie when the lines began to grow more distinguishable. He'd woken up beside her and he felt disgusting, not because Georgie was unattractive but because she wasn't Molly. He had just wanted some form of comfort and he'd crossed a line he shouldn't have, he'd figured that out almost immediately. Charles had snuck out of that room and headed straight to the shower block, scrubbing his body aggressively as if it would rid him of his sins. But at that point, it was too late – the damage had been done.

"You know that's what I don't get-" Molly shook her head in absolute disbelief. "How you could 'ave done that to me and to _Elvis?_ I tried, Charlie … I tried to help you-" There was no holding back Molly's tears this time, the briny water free-falling down her face. The build up of emotion over these last few days was finally coming out. She thought back to all of the times she'd tried to be a supportive wife and every time that he'd shot her down.

"I didn't mean to shut you out. I didn't even know I was doing it-" Within two quick strides, Charles was clutching Molly's face in his large hands. He couldn't bare it when she cried. It made him feel so stupidly guilty and he knew he needed to fix it, or at least attempt to. His fingers brushed away at her tears and unexpectedly, she didn't fight him. Because as messed up as it sounded, Charles was both the cause of her pain and the relief. The mere closeness of him was weirdly comforting and she treasured it … until Charles opened his mouth again. "Just don't cry, my love, _please,_ for me _."_

"For you?" This time, she shook Charles off. Molly hardened her exterior and brushed her hands across her face sloppily; catching the tears before they fell. "I owe you nothin', _Captain James_." She practically spat his formal title out; she'd never called him that before.

"No, god no. Of course not!" He paused a second, his hands grasping at empty air as she moved away from him again. "I just … I can't explain it but everything in my head was jumbled then. Georgie saved my life and I don't know … I kept seeing you and then seeing her, seeing Elvis. It was all too much."

"Imagine how I felt?" Molly was yelling now, her arms throwing up in exasperation. She had lost Smurf, her treasured platoon, her husband, one of her best friends. If she didn't have Jackie, Molly was certain she would have continued with a lifestyle far from sobriety. She would have ended up being right off the old chip, probably a drunk like her father and a young mum who hadn't lived life to its fullest. "You hurt me…" Charles saw her face drop and her eyes glaze over in a way that made Molly look so damn vulnerable. "But whateva' it don't matter."

"What do you mean, it _doesn't_ matter?" Even through all of this, it was second nature for Charlie to correct Molly's grammar.

"We're here to work, Charles and I'd like to do just that." Like it had been the past few days, the pursuit to find justice for Chana forced its way into the forefront of Molly's mind again. She had to focus on that or she was going to go crazy. "We can go back to how it used to be. You being a Commanding Officer and me being nothing."

"Don't," Charles pinched the gap between his eyebrows with a heartbroken frustration. He'd never loved anyone more than he'd loved Molly. "Don't say you were nothing to me. I fell in love with you the moment you scrambled across that battlefield in Afghan."

He had been petrified that day, in Afghan, so much so that he'd been screaming at the top of his lungs in order to stop her from attaching herself to that winch. He'd just almost lost her when that explosive had gone off and he couldn't bare the thought of seeing her get shot at after surviving something of that magnitude. But Molly's defiance came into play that day when she'd defied his direct orders. He'd watched her swing in the air from a helicopter, Smurf's body attached to her own as she did what many other soldiers that Charles had encountered had failed to do – _be unexceptionally brave._

"None of that matters now though, does it?" Molly shrugged at their surroundings – _war._ Their lovers quarrel meant nothing when the innocent lives of children were at stake. "We have one common goal ou' here and then we go about our lives."

"And what kind of a life is that?"

"A life _you_ chose."

Charles' mind drifted back to their empty home in Bath. It was virtually a ghost house without her. Gone was her makeup stand in the bathroom and the clothes from her side of the wardrobe. Everything seemed empty without her presence and it was _aching_. Soul wrenchingly aching for Charlie to go home. He still remembered that one time he'd return from a trip to the physiotherapist. They'd put him on some hardcore pain killers to control the pain in his lower leg and he'd been pretty out of it. He was delirious, and he'd walked into his home thinking Molly was there. And then it hit him, like a tonne of bricks to the forehead. That had probably been the first time he'd truly _sobbed_ at the end of his marriage; runny nose and red eyes. Because all that was left of her was the painful reminder of their wedding pictures; all hung up on their living room wall.

With Molly's final words resonating deeply within both Charles and herself, she walked out of her quarters and into belly of the Israeli heat. Her heart was heavy, and she was more confused than she was before Charles had ambushed her with a conversation. And as she lifelessly edged towards the medic's tent, Molly couldn't help but wonder what else the rest of this tour had in store for her.


	5. Chapter 5

I'm not going to lie, I'm very disappointed in this chapter and I don't really know why but I started writing and I just didn't know where I was going with it. I hope it doesn't sound as waffle-filled as it does in my head!

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Ever since Molly and Charles' moment of emotional confrontation, Molly tried her best to ignore her ex-husband as much as she could. Her head was still a mess and the pure sight of him did nothing to help her inner turmoil. Because even though a part of her wanted to him to hurt as much as she once did, seeing him around so frequently weakened her resolve. Every time they'd be training on the army base and she'd catch sight of him lifting, her mind would purposefully remind her of the multiple concaves of his chest or the feel of his rough skin against her body. Every time he barked an order, she could hear his voice muttering sweet nothings in her ear as she awoke from yet another post-tour nightmare. His presence on camp was toxic to Molly's wellbeing and so she did her best to dodge him whenever she could. But her mission was proving harder than in theory because waiting for the Americans to gain serious intel was a game of severe patience.

A game that consisted of two and six section being meshed together during most waking hours.

"Clark! A letter from your mother." Even tasks as simplistic as handing out post consisted of both platoons. Charles was handling the distribution of post this time, his voice ringing across the herd of soldiers. Molly tried her hardest to ignore his flickering gaze, her eyes focused on her lap as she fiddled absentmindedly with her fingers.

 _Once upon a time_ , she'd been as excited as Clark was now to receive a letter from back home.

"From your 'usband, Dawsey!" Somebody would shout and unashamedly, she'd grin back then as a member of her platoon flung a parcel or envelope in her direction. She'd love hearing about back home or about his experiences on tour. He'd tell her about his parents and their constant nattering, Sam and his progress at school but _most importantly_ , each letter or gift sent to her expressed how much he loved and missed her.

So, it was safe to say, _now_ , whenever the post arrived, Molly's excitement had dwindled down to that of a child on Christmas Eve who had just learnt that Santa wasn't real.

"Dawes!" Her name on his lips still brought back painful memories and Molly shifted awkwardly in her seat as Charles stared at her. "A letter from Bel-your mum." Charles corrected himself almost immediately, his mind chastising himself for the unprofessional slip of Molly's mother's name. The truth was, Charles had always had a good relationship with Belinda. He knew, despite her usual submissiveness to Dave, Belinda had her eldest daughter's best interests at heart; it was something he'd learnt almost immediately after meeting her.

They had been dating – _officially -_ for a good few months before Molly had caved and decided to take Charles home with her. It wasn't that she didn't care for him or didn't want their relationship to progress, it was just that their lives were so completely different in the real world. In Afghan, they were just soldiers. They had each other's backs without the disturbance of the monotony of things like an upbringing. But, now that they were home, it was hard not to miss the clear juxtaposition between their normal lives. Charlie had a respectably _good_ childhood, the type that adverts were based off. He was sent to boarding school, spent his holidays having sit down dinners and BBQ's in the sun; all pretty picturesque. Whereas, Molly was on the other end of the spectrum with her Brady bunch type upbringing. And honestly, she'd been petrified to take Charles home because she was scared he'd take one look at her crammed council owned flat and do a runner. She was so scared of that possibility that she'd been arguing with Charles every time he brought the matter up in conversation.

"It's Christmas, Mols. Don't you want to spend it with your family?"

Charlie had finally been relieved off his ankle boot following the Afghan injury and was still limping awkwardly around his family home in Bath. Even though Molly lived in London, she had taken up a temporary residence in Charlie's home under the pretence that she needed to look after him. His parents, Elizabeth and Nathan, who she had yet to meet, were still jet-setting around the world, leaving their only son to fend for himself. A reality that Charles wasn't complaining about; he loved how attentive Molly had been to him, more noticeably so after Smurf's passing. Charlie was getting to see a new side to her, one that he'd barely got a glimpse off and it was refreshing. He was falling in love with her more and more each day. But ever since his mobility had increased and he was back to a sense of normality, Molly had been doing everything in her power to pick a fight with him, especially when regarding her family.

The Christmas period was always a big deal in the James household. Even though for years it was only Charles and his parents, they had made a tradition out of the littlest things. A young Charlie would bounce with excitement at the prospect of baking sugar cookies or putting up the tree. And unconventionally, the excitement grew more prominent as he grew older; once Sam was born. It was that feeling of togetherness during the holiday season that always did it for Charlie, always reminded him of the most valuable things in life.

So, Molly's decision to stay in Bath - without any of her family – was questionable to her boyfriend at the time. He knew she loved them, the pictures of her siblings taped to the side of her bed in Afghan was proof of that. Molly also never hesitated to tell two section about them _bleeding buggers_ which meant that there was only one other logical reason for her keeping him and her family separated – she wasn't ready, for real commitment – for _them._ Because she'd taken Smurf home during their first rest and recuperation without a second thought. And, deep down, that consolidated something that Charles had always known: that he and Molly were at different stages in their lives. She was much younger than he was, and she was a new recruit into the British Army. She had her whole life and plenty of tours ahead of her. On the other hand, Charlie was a divorcee with a child, a serious injury and no clue about what he wanted from life once he'd stopped living out of his bergen. And, their inability to relate on many levels was a big insecurity of Charles', despite his reluctance to admit it. After all, he prided himself in being a man of authority, the subject of the masculinity stereotype and admitting his emotions to a woman wasn't easy. But then again, nothing with Molly was easy. She was _different,_ made him want to be different. Hence why Charles had been so overtly persistent about discussing her family.

"Drop it, will ya?" Molly was making the pair of them dinner, something she was surprisingly good at. Charlie had been living off expensive dinners, greasy take-outs and pot noodles until Molly had shocked him with a wholesome bowl of pasta her first night in Bath. She'd claimed her experience had all come from feeding her army of brothers and sisters. "The bleeders can do without me one year."

"You know we can spend Christmas in London, _together_ -"

"We've talked about this." Molly dropped her spoon loudly against the saucepan and turned to face her boyfriend. Her facial expression was inexpressive, almost blank and her hostility seemed to cement the doubts that Charlie was having – she didn't want a serious relationship, _at least not with him._

"Have we?" Charlie huffed and hobbled along the kitchen floor to perch himself opposite her against the kitchen counter. And despite her annoyance at the fact that the dreaded conversation about her family had been brought up again, Molly rushed to assist him as he walked. "Look, I'm not going to push you to take me anywhere if you don't want to … but we don't have to do this-"

"What you mean by that?"

"If this, _us,_ if it's moving too quick or if you … want someone else-" Charlie closed his eyes as a foreign feeling overwhelmed his senses. It was the same feeling he had felt when Smurf had asked for his advice when he had wanted to propose to Molly – _jealousy._

"Is that what you 'fink?" Molly scoffed, closing the gap between them quickly. She rested a hand on each of his biceps, her face barely reaching his chin as she craned to look him in the eye. "There's no one else, you muppet."

"You've just been fighting me on this for weeks. I thought I was pushing you away and you were-"

"Bein' a slag and sleeping with some other geezer whilst you were in physio?" Despite the colloquial terms and the stern expression on her face, Molly's tone of voice was one of humour. She was aware that that probably wasn't what he was thinking but she was hoping her comment would help sweep the elephant in the room under the carpet; the elephant that was her dysfunctional family.

"No, of course not!" This time, Charlie seized Molly's small frame into his arms, forcing their bodies tightly against one another. His forehead rested against hers, their breathes mingling and their chest heaving as one. "I just thought maybe you didn't want me to meet your family-"

"Because they're all fucking bonkers, mate!" Molly chuckled before letting a seriousness fall over her features. Her fingers traced Charles' features slowly, her mind reeling in the feel of him. She couldn't comprehend how a man like him had insecurities about _her_ falling for someone else. Molly always felt too good for him and it baffled her completely to think that Charlie shared some similar doubts. "I 'fought they'd scare you off and I can't bare you runnin' off into the hills."

"I'm not going anywhere, Molly! It's why I wanted to meet your family to begin with. I want us to settle down properly and your family's a big part of you, a part I want to get to know." Charles gave her a light squeeze, his large arms enveloping her in a way that made her feel so protected. In that moment, Molly didn't know what she'd been worrying about. The reassurance and honesty in his eyes was enough for her to want exactly what he wanted – commitment, something she'd been scared of since Artan. "Besides, if they're even partly related to you, I gathered they'd have some screws loose."

"Oi! Don't let me nan catch you sayin' that. She'd kick you out the door before me dad could crack open a can."

"Does that mean you'll be more open to me meeting them someday?" A hopefulness sprouted within Charlie at the light exposure into Molly's familial life.

"How does Christmas sound?" Molly sighed after a weight suddenly lifted off her chest at Charlie's earlier minimal yet significant words of reassurance.

And true to her word, Molly took Charles home that Christmas Eve. Initially, she'd been incredibly hesitant, the nerves evident in her as her knee bopped aggressively on the train and her hold on his hand tightened that brief bit. But within seconds of being on the estate, Molly and Charles were attacked and shoved into the deep end of the craziness that was the Dawes family. There was no time to second guess anything; there was just sink or swim.

Charles swam.

"Don' hurt her, you 'ear me." Belinda and Charles were in the kitchen as the volume in the flat had settled down to a level that was bearable. Despite seeing how good the couple were together, Belinda had seen a heartbroken Molly before. Her break up with Artan had been one of the reasons why she'd joined the army in the first place. Belinda didn't want that again; her baby was so far from her still and she couldn't risk anymore distance, both metaphorically and physically. "She's a good one."

"She makes me happy." Despite Belinda's reservations, Charlie was quick to reassure her of the belief that he had Molly's best interests at heart. His honesty was transparent, and their conversation simmered there, leaving the pair in a comfortable silence, one that enabled them to truly pay attention to a smiling Molly. From their position in the doorway, they could see Molly with her baby brother, Martin, cooing and laughing. There was something about her with young children that made Charlie feel so proud. It was so easy for her to get people to like her; Sam was practically attached to her hip already.

"She's 'appy, too you know-" After a few minutes of silence, Belinda spoke again, this time with less of a warning in her voice. "With you, I mean. She ain't smiled like that in yonks."

"That's all I ever want to do, Belinda. Make her happy." Charles rested his fingers over Belinda's and the two unknowingly sealed the beginning of a new relationship with a mere squeeze of the hand.

From that point onward, even with all of their differences, Charlie and Belinda became an unlikely pair. Even though he'd gotten to meet her family, Charles still messaged Belinda secretly. Molly didn't like to talk about her pre-army days much, but Charlie saw it differently. Her wild, rebellious days shaped the woman that he loved, and he wanted to know every little thing about her. It had shocked Molly when she'd discovered the two had been texting prior to the day of their proposal; Charlie taking advice from his future mother-in-law about Molly's likes and dislikes. Belinda had told him about her fear of the ocean and deep waters – ruling out Charles' idea to propose on a boat. She'd told him about Molly's adoration for chocolate and overly sweet alcoholic drinks. They'd bonded over that experience; over Molly. But that wasn't always a good thing because it meant that Molly wasn't the only person who has heartbroken by Charles' eventual betrayal. Belinda had thrown the word hate at Charles a few times and as he handed Molly her letter from her mother, Charles felt his stomach drop with unexplainable guilt.

"Fanks." Molly muttered before seizing the letter out of his hand.

"Hold on, you've got another one, Dawes." Molly halted and turned with a look of confusion on her face. Nowadays she only ever received letters from her mum. Jackie usually sent her a letter or two, but she was deployed herself and barely got a chance to breathe let alone write. "A letter from a … Ben Thompson."

"Ooo! Molly and Ben sitting in a tree-" Members of six section - who were basically children - began to catcall at the mention of Molly's letter from a member of the opposite sex. They all knew who Ben was to Molly, but they loved making Molly blush profoundly. In the microcosm that was the camp base, Molly's life was, unfortunately, their source of entertainment. There were no TVs or books and so, the group of lads did all they could do embarrass Molly or add harmless fuel to the shit-show that was her marriage _(purely because they could)_ "K-i-s-s-i-n-g!"

And despite Charlie not even knowing who Ben Thompson was, he felt a surge of jealousy fizzle throughout him. He had no right to feel threatened, but _he did._ Because the reality was that Charles had been a shitty husband and a year was plenty of time for Molly to have moved on. It had only taken him a few moments with her to fall in love and the thought of somebody else expressing those same feelings made his heartbeat erratically. Molly had had months of freedom – no ring on her finger – and the thought of her dating or _worse_ , actually being with someone else, gave him the urge to vomit.

 _What if this was it for them? What if she had moved on? Found somebody else? Fallen in love?_

Sudden images of Molly cuddled up with another man flashed into Charlie's mind and there was nobody but him to blame for it - _he had done this,_ pushed her away _._

"Shut it, you wankers." Molly rolled her eyes at her platoon's immaturity and announced her departure. "I'm gonna go see me head doctor."

As the days stretched on, Captain Adams had suggested that Molly keep confiding in two section's medic, Kumar Lalli. He was a British Indian man that had lost his wife to cancer and in grief. had decided to devote his time to his country. He'd been in service for over four years now and surprisingly, he was somebody that Molly found easy to talk to. He was a fresh perspective on Molly's life, somebody who barely knew Charles and her's backstory. He didn't have to pick sides or broadcast his opinion on the whole matter, he just listened, and Molly was thankful – _for once_ – that her Commanding Officer had introduced the prospect of therapy.

"Ah, I was wondering where you got to." Kumar was leaning against a gurney, patiently expecting his fellow medic for their routine session.

"Was collecting this." Molly tore open the letter from Ben Thompson and handed it to Kumar, the grin on her face widening to exceptional levels.

"Is this what I think it is?" Kumar's smiled brightened to meet that of Molly's. In his hand was Molly's anatomy and nursing qualification certificate. She had missed the local college's graduation ceremony because of tour and her professor, Mr Thompson, who had assisted her through absolutely everything, had been pleased to send her a copy of the original document that was in the safe hands of The Royal Mail. "Congratulations, Dawes! You're a qualified nurse."

"Mad, init."

"How do you feel seeing that?"

"Oh, 'er we go with the questions!" Molly joked about Kumar's likeliness to a _real_ therapist. He almost always answered her with questions; always picking and prodding at her mind to dig just that little bit deeper. All he needed was a couch to lie on and he had himself a business. "Truf-fully, I feel on top of the moon, Kumar."

"And why is that?"

"Just cuz'." Molly shrugged but Lalli's pressing look pushed her to talk some more. "I don't feel so …. helpless anymore, you know?"

"Is that what Charles made you feel, _helpless_?" That was another thing that Molly liked about Kumar, despite being Captain James' inferior, as a Private, he never referred to him as Captain when with Molly. In order to really gauge her emotions, Kumar knew he needed to build a sense of rapport, something that wasn't going to be achieved by calling her cheating ex-husband, _'Sir'_

"A lil' bit, _yeah."_ Molly deliberated the question before answering. After Charlie had broken her heart, she had felt lost. The days stretched into nights and the nights stretched into weeks. She was suddenly unsure of who she was and what she wanted from life and school had been that one thing that had given her a sense of purpose. Molly had never felt prouder of herself in that moment. For the first time in years, it felt like she'd done something for herself, by herself, and that was greatly rewarding. "Now I feel like … maybe, just maybe I'll be okay."

As she smiled, Kumar nodded discreetly. He had been updating Captain Adams on Molly's mental condition after every session and it was safe to say that she was seeming stronger and stronger as the days passed. Initially, he had been worried about how relaxed she appeared amongst the madness that was her life. Chana's death and Charles' reappearance all within the space of days had taken its toll on her but it seemed that her graduation certificate was something that Molly had needed. It reminded her that she was capable of living without the assistance of anybody else. She was a strong woman and without a doubt, Kumar had faith that she was more than capable of doing her job out on the field.

"I think you'll be okay too, Dawes."


	6. Chapter 6

I've just planned out the next few chapters for this story and I'm super excited to see what you guys think about how the story eventually pans out!

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It was well passed midnight when Charles finally retired to bed that night. His rear end hit the hard mattress with a loud thump as unwanted image after image flooded into his brain. He had ghosted like this throughout the day, completely distracted, and he chastised himself for his inability to remain purely professional. He knew the detrimental effect of getting his feelings _too_ involved with a member of the army. With Molly, he'd let his attraction get the better of him and he'd put her, himself and Smurf on the line. With Lane - he'd lost absolutely everything. He lost Molly, Elvis and the respect of his platoon; he'd figuratively lost his life on that tour. And so, Charlie was trying to rid himself of the overwhelming feelings he was experiencing right now. However, that was easier said than done because all Charles found himself thinking about was the elusive Ben Thompson. Because, the truth of the matter was that sending somebody a letter whilst they were deployed was incredibly personal. One's whereabouts when on duty was information that not many soldiers shared with just friends or acquaintances, which left Charlie wondering - _who was Ben to Molly?_

In his head, he disliked the guy already. He envisioned Ben being the polar opposite to him physically, with dirty blonde hair and pale, freckled skin. He pictured a boring business suit with a boring black tie, a light chavvy accent to match. He could see the pair of them walking around holding hands, kissing after dates. It was like Charles' mind was going on a bender, a jealous bender that stressed Molly moving on. The one image he played over and over in his head was one of them curled up together on a sofa; his ears ringing as he imagined Ben saying Molly's name when they were alone, in her flat.

It was always Molly's favourite thing to do, watch movies under a blanket with an abundance of junk food. In fact, it had been their second date. He still remembered it like it was yesterday. When in Afghan, Charles had promised to wine and dine Molly like she deserved. And it was safe to say, he had been successful in doing so. Their first date had been a good one, a _great one,_ absent of any awkwardness. They had joked around – _"did you just wipe cabbage on my hand?"_ – they had been serious, and they had been openly affectionate. It had been perfect, and Charles thought it couldn't have been topped, especially since their first date had concluded in what Molly comedically referred to as _'going halves on a Travelodge.'_

So, Charles had been pleasantly surprised when Molly had managed to top their first date, a day _(and night)_ of perfection. It had all started with the element of surprise. Charlie had been getting taxis to and from his physiotherapy sessions and had been pleasantly surprised to the smell of a home cooked cottage pie one weekend. Unconventionally, she stopped by with a bouquet of flowers that sat in a vase upon the dining table and she was dressed in his mum's floral apron. There was just something so domesticated about the sight of her and Charlie was glad he had made Molly aware of the spare key under the flower pot.

"What are you doing here?" He'd hobbled towards her, his ankle boot still restricting his movement.

"Makin' sure ya eat proper." Molly turned her nose up at the endless amount of baked beans she'd found stacked in his cupboard. "You'd think a Rupert like you'd at least go for the branded stuff-"

"Hmm." Charlie wrapped both his arms around Molly's petite waist, forcing her body into his own. She'd had to go back to London the day after their first date and this was the first time he was seeing her since then. The feeling of her in his arms made him feel content and a light sigh left his lips as she snuggled into him. "I missed you."

"I missed you too." Molly mumbled against his shirt, her nose inhaling that musky scent of him that she loved too well. "How's your leg doing?"

"Alright, _sore."_ At that mention, Molly sat Charles down, her hand resting against his knee as she crouched in front of him.

"Well, it's a good thing I'm 'ere to look after you. You might gonna wanna need a medic."

"I thought we talked about this," Charles frowned a little, his fingers brushing her hair tenderly behind her ear. "You're not going to find whatever you're looking for here, babysitting me whilst I get better-"

"Chill out, you worry wart." Molly's face lit up with a smile. "And stop tryna get rid of me. I'm training new meds at the barracks starting the end of this month, till then … _I'm all yours boss_."

"I definitely love the sound of that!" Charles smirked. Carefully avoiding his injured leg, he hoisted Molly up from her position on the floor and settled her onto his lap. "It means I can do this-" After what felt like years, Charles' lips settled over Molly's. His right hand found itself into her hair whilst his mouth devoured hers slowly. A throaty moan rumbled at the back of Molly's throat, her head falling back just a tad at the sensation that she was oh so familiar with and yet oh so deprived of due to their differing locations. As the pace picked up and their kisses grew more feverish, the oven timer went off and the two pulled away reluctantly.

Before Molly hopped out of his lap, she whispered into Charles' ear, "it means I can make you watch _The Omen_ with me."

Charles had presumed she was joking. But once dinner was done with, she had ushered him into the living room where blankets and pillows had been arranged strategically.

"What's all of this?"

"It's movie night!" The only thing missing from Molly's sentence was, _duh!_ And Charles chuckled before nestling onto the couch with her. Truthfully, he hadn't been paying much attention to the movie as it progressed. He'd been distracted by the way Molly's face lit up at certain scenes and the way she jumped in his hold as the horror kicked in. He put an arm around her protectively as she hid in his torso, her eyes peaking up to catch glimpses of the scary stuff. "Can we watch a 'appy one after?"

"Sure." Charlie shook his head in mocking disbelief and kissed the crown of hers.

They'd watched _Dirty Dancing_ after that. Molly singing softly in his ear with the warmest of smiles upon her lips. Charles loved that about her, her ability to be content without the need for excessive makeup or expensive restaurants. It became something that they did often, the watching movies thing. Charles enlightened her with the exposure to old time classics whilst Molly added a youthfulness with her desire to work their way through the _Marvel Comic Universe._

And her smile from all those movie nights was what burned at the forefront of Charles' brain. It was bright and full of magnetism and almost instantaneously, an unruly truth settled over Charlie – he'd given up the right to make her smile like that again.

Because he was the fuck up. He was the one who had pissed off with somebody else. And whilst lying in that bed, with but his painful memories of his once happy marriage, Charlie had never felt more _alone._ Even though he was aware that Molly was just a few quarters down from him, he missed her, _gravely._

That same lonely dreadfulness followed him as he awoke the next morning. There was a dark cloud over him, despite the overbearing morning sun and he walked around with a permanent scowl on his face. He dredged to the mess hall and just about grunted at the two section lads as he headed straight for the coffee that could just about be called coffee. He thought it would help, the concoction of water and caffeine, but honestly, it didn't have its desired effect. He still felt like somebody had pissed in his Coco Pops.

"You alright, boss?" Fingers slid onto the bench opposite Charles, immediately detecting his off mood at the crack of dawn.

"You wanna learn to mind your own business, Private?" Charles hadn't meant to snap at Fingers, especially because he knew he cared, but the words were out before he could stop them. It was a classic case of foot in mouth syndrome.

"I'm just tryna help, man." Fingers didn't take Charlie's words personally, he knew he got like this when everything went tits up, and so Fingers just raised his arms up in a gesture of surrender. As he did, a group of six section walked in for some breakfast and Charles' eyes immediately drifted to Molly. Her hair was still loose and framing her face and she wore a tiny smile as she conversed with members of her platoon. It still stunned him how beautiful she was and without a word to Fingers, Fingers knew the reason behind his boss' shitty mood. "You've go'a stop being so hard on yourself."

In all honesty, Charles wanted to confess everything to Fingers. He wanted to tell him how he couldn't stop thinking about his wife with someone else – how the thought made him want to gauge his eyes out. He wanted to explain how he felt like a failure; how he'd ruined everything. But despite wanting to divulge all of his emotions to his friend, he knew, as Fingers' CO, that he needed to keep his mouth shut.

On the contrary, Fingers couldn't give a shit about their hierarchal positions in the army. He kept talking; almost as if he had the ability to read his boss' mind. "Maybe you need to start thinking 'bout how you're not going to fail her again." Fingers was a good soldier and he knew the importance of having a clued-on head whilst on the field. It was literally a matter of life and death and he knew that the most important thing that Charlie could do for Molly now was to insure she got home in one peace. "Look this ain't gonna be easy and I'm not saying she'll take you back but … you gotta sort your head out, boss. One mistake and she's fucked. We _all_ are."

Fingers didn't even wait for a response, he got up from his seat and returned to the rest of the team, leaving Charlie to ponder his words carefully. _Of course_ , Fingers had been right. Aside from whatever Charles was feeling, his priority was to make sure Molly got home safe. For now, that was all he could do for her. And when they both got home, bodies intact, he was going to talk to her. He was going to beg for forgiveness – _whether they got back together or not_ – he _needed_ her in his life, for his own sanity. Up until that point arrived, he needed to be a good Commanding Officer - nobody else was going to die under his watch.

"Alright, lads, ops room as soon as your done."

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, both two and six section were being requested out onto the grounds of Israel. They had been cooped up on the army base for days now, the lot of them going slightly insane in each other's constant company within a small surface area. Mock exercises had entertained them for long enough and now suddenly, they were all geared up and excited for some _real_ work.

"Kits on and ready for departure by zero nine hundred hours. Make sure you buggers are hydrated as well, it's hot out today." Once everyone was done eating their fill, both Captains ushered the two sections towards their quarters. Over the course of breakfast, everybody had been instructed on the day's objective; humanitarian work. With the temperature scorching and conflict between the Arabs Israeli's continuing, the platoons' purpose was to assist anybody and everybody they saw that needed help. Whether it was handing out water bottles or providing medical care to the needy, everybody was equipped for a generally smooth sailing session.

But, as being in the army had taught many, regardless of how prepared one was, nothing was ever as smooth as sailing as you hoped.

As the six-section military jeep pulled up at the grounds of a neighbouring village, they found themselves immersed in a state of chaos. Amidst the dusty atmosphere, people were running in all directions and the distant ring of sirens sounded in the background. Shrieks came from everywhere and Molly blinked a few times, her mind unsure of what direction to look in.

"Boss?" Everyone in the platoon was virtually dumbfounded, and Molly turned to her Commanding Officer for official orders. However, it seemed Captain Adams was also trying to wrap his head around everything. His mouth was gaping, and his head was frequently turning this way and that; almost as if he were deciding which place was the best to start.

As everybody tried to figure out what to do next, Molly spotted something that sent a cold shiver of worry down her spine. She could see smoke; grey smoke. It had been a part of her schooling, in the past year, to detect the differences between dangerous and easily dismissive smoke. It hadn't been anything of significance, just a quick fact learnt in a lesson in working with burn victims. Smoke from moisture was white, harmless in most cases. Smoke in the colours tan, brown or grey was emitted because of the burning of wood, moisture and hydrocarbons. In simpler terms, it meant something, _or someone_ had been set alight. Before anybody else could notice the smoke in the distance, six section's accompanying platoon – two section – pulled up in the parking spot beside them. Using this as a distraction, Molly went sprinting into the depths of the frantic crowds.

Molly knew it was a stupid, _stupid_ move. As she ran, she knew she was going to get a bollocking when she got back. It was one of the fundamentals of war, never go into battle on your own. She was a part of a team, and she knew that, but seeing the smoke and hearing the screams had been like a kick up her backside. She had been far too helpless in many situations – Smurf's death, her marriage, Chana – she couldn't, _wouldn't,_ let that happen again. She needed to _try_ , at least. And with that, came a sense of recklessness that she'd never experienced before. She hadn't looked towards Captain Adams for his approval, she'd used her instinct and she'd gone for it.

"Dawes! _Dawes!_ What the fuck are you playing at?" Captain Adams screeched just as Charles hopped off his section's jeep. He hadn't been around for long, but he had seen enough; Molly acting on an unofficial order. It had all been a matter of moments, one second Charlie was taking in his messy surroundings and the next he was watching Molly run off amid it all. Her spontaneity had been enough to send panic surging through him. They had no idea what had caused the chaos in the village and he was petrified, of what she was running into _, petrified of the unknown_.

"Oh shit!" Not thinking about his job or his role as his team's Commanding Officer, Charles' husband persona pushed its way to the forefront. He was worried, visibly, and then, _then_ he spotted the smoke. "Adams-" Charlie pointed at the sky that was gradually greying. People's eyes drifted upwards and then a roar of flames came into sight; bright orange and hissing. Screams grew louder and Charles' panic cemented – _fuck, Molly!_

"Bleeding hell." Captain Adams cussed under his breathe before yelling over the tropospheric scatter that helped the soldiers communicate with one another. "Kumar take the rest of my section and help with any urgent medical care required." Kumar Lalli simply nodded, despite Captain Adams not being his boss, he aware that with Molly off in the crowds, he was the only medic left. "Dawes, don't you dare go anywhere near that fire, do you hear me? Dawes!"

"Two section, with me." With Molly's safety in mind, Charlie took off in her footsteps with the rest of his platoon. "When the fire is in sight, depending on its magnitude, make sure the area is evacuated and people who need it are getting medical help. Fingers, see if you can get a hold of emergency services, see what's taking them so long."

"Yes, sir."

Using the growing flames as his sense of direction, Charles brought himself and the rest of two section to the fire's source – a home, or a set of homes. There seemed to be police officers at the scene, trying to help, but there were no firefighters or paramedics. There were no agents of social control relevant to the incident and it seemed a bit strange.

"Officer." Charles approached a man in uniform and he stretched out his syllables in hopes he could speak English, thankfully, the man could. "What's going on?"

"Weather cause fire." The officer waved at the growing fire, the sweat dripping off his forehead in buckets. "Nobody to help." His words explained the frenzy of sirens in the distance. With temperatures as high as their current one, natural fires were probably arising in multiple destinations all at once.

"Is there anything we can do to hel-" Charlie's words silenced immediately as he spotted Molly.

"My dä!" A woman nearby was sobbing, her shouts louder than that of anybody else's. Her arm was flailing about, pointing at the direction of the house in front of them. "Daughter, my baby, in there … my life!"

As the woman cried, Molly's actions seemed to slow like she was deliberating something carefully in her head. Charles watched her intently, seeing the thought process painted across her emotive features. As the look of realisation fell upon her features, Charles realised it was too late. He knew what she was about to do and before he could stop her, she raised an arm over her face for protection and then made a run for the burning building. _"Molly!"_ There and then, Charlie was certain time had stopped. His heart lurched into his ribcage and his first instinct was to run after her. He needed to _save her_ and as he proceeded to, an arm in front of him restricted his movements.

"Boss, you can't go in there!"

"Molly is in there-" Charlie fought against the arm stopping him but to no avail. The lads of two section held him back with a force that not even he could fight. "Get out of my fucking way!"

As the hot flames roared aggressively, bits of wooden planks falling out of the sky, Charles had a sudden desire to comfort the crying woman in front of him. Because, he could relate to her, he knew how she felt because … _his life was in that burning building too._


	7. Chapter 7

Sorry that this has taken me so long, thank you for your patience! I have just had a lot on my plate recently and I hope this chapter is worth the wait x

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Tunnel vision had forced Molly to run into a burning building in the attempt of rescuing a helpless child without any second thought. Nevertheless, that same vision was growing increasingly blurry. Her eyes glazed over as heat penetrated everywhere. Smoke loitered the air wherever she turned, and the loud roar of flames prevented her from hearing any cries of the child she was in pursuit of saving.

It was then that her mind began floating off on a tangent. She wasn't sure if it were the smoke's fault or her mind's inability to steer away from the image of domesticity but, Molly could see a child – a figment of her imagination. Once again, she found herself thinking of children, _her own children._ The child in front of her had to be hers. The only thing that confirmed that, was the fact that the girl looked exactly like her and Charles. Amidst the fire, the toddler, no more than six years old, stood before Molly with a small smile on her face. It was a ghost of a smile, haunting, and Molly attempted one in return. The girl's hair was in a tuft of curls upon her head and her arm was extended, reaching out to Molly. It was almost as if she was trying to show her something, take her somewhere.

 _"Please."_ Molly rasped as the smoke engulfed her lungs. She wasn't sure if she was pleading for herself, the child her mind was conjuring up or the _real_ child she was meant to be saving. She also wasn't sure what she was pleading for: safety, the figment's existence … _death._ Molly's mind was chaos, exactly like her life in the real world. "Come on, come on, come on." The more Molly nattered to herself, the harder it grew for her to move about. It was the smoke that was the devil in this situation. It held her hostage, pushing down on her chest as she attempted anything. The slightest of movements made her dizzy – _weak_ \- and the heat seemed to kiss every inch of her exposed flesh. Using basic training as her only guide, Molly used her feet and hands as a guidance system. She tried to reach for the girl in front of her but every time she extended a limb, she felt her uniform singe and burn, the burns hitting her skin in an ache that was growing numbingly painful. "Please!"

And as Molly begged and pleaded inside the burning building, her estranged husband did the exact same whilst outside.

 _"Please God, please,"_ Charles cursed under his breathe, his mind praying to a deity that he had never believed in. An image of Molly's smooth skin tarnished with ash and flames made his blood run cold. A lone tear slipped from his eye as he dragged his fingers through his dishevelled curls. He felt unbelievably hopeless like he had been with Smurf, his brother and Elvis. It was a feeling he despised. "Fuck, come on, Mols."

As he sobbed without a care on the sandy ground, all Charles could think of was Molly and the once picturesque life that they had shared together.

He thought of the moments in life which could only be described as perfect, the moments that one wishes were frozen in time forever. They were the type of moments that sat on mantle pieces in antique frames. Charles' most prized moments were the ones that weren't tainted by the cruelty or the sadness of the world that he had become so familiar with, they were moments of profound innocence. They were moments shared with Sam, his son; Sam's first steps, his first words, his first laugh, smile. But Charlie always believed such a sense of wholesomeness rightfully only came with children. He never imagined that an adult could possess such playfulness or naivety, at least not one who had experienced the harsh realities of war. But that was all before he had set his eyes on Molly Dawes.

He'd thought of her as a breath of fresh air. She'd been everything he'd been looking for, without even knowing it. She knew when to call him out on his bullshit and when to set him straight. She knew how to make him laugh and smile, get his body all riled up. She was _perfect_ without fitting a mould that society deemed fit. She was unique in her own _Dawsey_ type of way and every moment spent with her was a moment that Charlie wanted to encapsulate.

It was like the time that Charles had realised he had wanted to propose to Molly. It hadn't been a day of much significance, at least not to her. The two had decided to spend the day shopping after Molly had taken up a more permanent residence in Charles' home in Bath. Charles had figured that the house needed a more feminine touch after his parents had decided to uproot and travel the world with their hefty retirement savings. He had littered the place with his laddish trimmings, a football magazine here, his gardening gloves there. And so, he had taken Molly to their local _IKEA_ , knowing well that she'd rummage through the never-ending shelves like a kid in a candy store. It was that bright and infectious smile of hers that had catalysed Charles' desire to settle down again. He had known from early on that Molly was someone he couldn't live without but that smile on her face – the one that reached her eyes – was what consolidated something that Charles had always known deep down. Molly deserved more. Just because he hadn't gotten his happy ending the first time around, it didn't mean Molly didn't deserve her chance at it. The fairy tale wedding, the white picket fence; Charles wanted her to have everything she hadn't grown up seeing. He wanted to complete her, make her as happy as she was picking furniture every day.

But, in the reality of their current situation, Charles felt lost, the memories of that beautiful smile a distant memory. All of it was slipping away, _fast._ Because here he was, staring at hues of orange and red fire, knowing that Molly was in the middle. As the flames raged and the screams grew more dominant around him, Charles felt more helpless than he had ever been before. It was like his perfect moments were slipping threw his fingers and there was nothing scarier. It was a god forsaken feeling, one that he hadn't even felt after Elvis' death. He was losing a whole other part of himself – _her -_ and there was nothing he could do about it.

This wasn't like losing her after that night with Georgie. It was worse, heartbreakingly worse. It was a completely different spectrum if Charles was being honest. After their separation, there was always a part of him that knew she was alive and prospering. He knew she was still a part of the force and accepting an abundance of jobs. His conscious was aware of the fact that she was still up and kicking and that his betrayal hadn't ruined her. It had been a weird sense of comfort knowing that Molly had continued to do the thing she loved in order to find a sense of direction.

However, this feeling wasn't like that. That image of a brave and fighting Molly was fading fast, like a poor effect in a budget movie. Whilst people bustled around him, assisting with medical care and running from the growing flames, Charlie found himself rooted in his spot. His eyes were fixated on the entrance that Molly had gone running off through, every fibre in his body screaming for her to make her heroic exit. In fact, he couldn't give a shit about her heroic exit, he just needed her _out._ The less prominent and more practical _(and rational)_ part of him couldn't help but wonder - wonder if she was still up and fighting through that burning building, wondered if she'd passed out from the smoke inhalation, wondered if she'd make it out alive …

He couldn't lose her … _not again._

"She's gonna be alright, Sir." Fingers slapped a hand to Charles' back, snapping him out of his reverie. "She 'as to be." And despite the confidence in his tone, not even Fingers believed his words. Because he'd never believed in luck or fate, he believed in practicality and facts and the fact of the matter was that they were all truly and utterly screwed. Even though everyone seemed to be helping and the platoons were on their a-game, a fire like the one before them was no joke. It was hot and blazing and Fingers knew that Molly had been god-damned stupid for running in there with no back up. She had no protective gear, no shield, no water-hose and that wasn't a good sign.

"What am I going to do, Fingers?" As Captain James spoke, the vulnerability he had been trying to suppress before his inferior slipped. He had spent so long hiding from Fingers and that façade was slowly fading. His voice was barely a whisper among the surrounding screaming and the silent tears slowly began to stream down his face. For once, he was no longer Fingers' Captain, he was a friend in clear distress. "I can't-"

"You can't lose her?" Fingers gave Charles a sympathetic smile as he completed his weighted sentence. "Nor can we, Boss. Molly's a shinin' light and we're gonna do what we can to get her out, alright?"

The two men, unintentionally, thought back to their first mission alongside Molly. Smurf had been well … _Smurf …_ and had moved _too_ quickly and had nearly gotten himself killed. They had all doubted Molly when she'd joined the team and they'd all unrightfully presumed Smurf was as good as dead with a medic like Molly because Molly had had to crawl through a minefield to get to him. But she'd done it. Without second guessing herself, Molly had been brave. Charles remembered calling her stupid and reckless and Fingers remembered calling her a hero. That day in Afghan, Molly had proven her worth, proven she was as capable as any other man on their team. She'd saved a member of their family and that's exactly what Charles wanted to do now – _needed to._ In his perverse mind, he felt like he needed to prove himself, as a soldier, a captain and as a husband.

"We have to go in there-"

"No!" Fingers, once again, restrained Charles from stampeding into a burning building like his reckless wife. He knew getting Molly out was a priority but sending Charles in was like sending him to his death. His pursuit of being a hero was going to end fruitless. "Emergency services are on their way. We gotta let them do their job."

"And I have to do mine. I have to save her." Charles knew he was a shitty husband. He had been reminded of his incapability to be good to Molly over and over again. However, regardless of his past, his feelings for Molly were still there. Deep down, they always had been. His post traumatic stress disorder had jumbled up his thoughts back when he was with Georgie but rest assured, he was as confident as ever about his feelings for Molly. In fact, his feelings were stronger now. And, despite what Molly felt towards him, as her husband, Charles was determined to help her live.

"Look, I know you're sorry and all but killing yourself ain't gonna help no one-"

"She's my _wife,_ Fingers. I have to do something."

With theatrical timing, the distant blaring of a fire truck grew louder and louder as Charles' worry grew more prominent.

"They'll get her out." Fingers kept his hand firmly pressed against Charles' back as an attempt to comfort him. "She'll be alright."

The locals yelled at firemen as they offloaded, instructing them on Molly and a child's presence within the building. Within seconds, people were racing in with an abundance of equipment; water hoses at the ready.

In order to keep himself sane, Charles repeated Fingers' words in his head. But as he did, his surroundings seemed to blur together – a Jackson Pollock in the real world. It was like a scene from a film; nothing made sense without Molly. It was knocking the air out of him, forcing him to kneel on the ground with Fingers by his side.

He didn't know how long he was sat like that, his knees drawn to his chest and his eyes trying to focus on something tangible. He decided the ground was a good place to look. He couldn't see the fire, couldn't see the people injured or the people running. The ground was safe a method for Charles to cope with the fact that everything had hit the ceiling.

"Sir, Captain, Sir!" The voices around him were a mess too, all indistinguishable. It was like the good old days when Charles used to hit the clubs, he felt drunk and unable to identify his surroundings. All he could hear was a distant ringing, it was faint but somehow loud and extremely audible at the same time. "Charles … you gotta get up – come on-"

Before Charles could even understand what was going on, he felt Fingers heave his body upwards. He tripped over his feet a little until clarity started to emerge.

"Fingers-" Charles questioned his fellow soldier, almost to clarify that what he was seeing was real.

"Molly, Captain James, Molly!" Charles shook his head, his hand thumping his temple as his vision cleared leisurely and his senses returned. He wasn't sure if he was still drunk – _metaphorically, of course_ – or not.

"Fingers, is that-"

"Molly!" Fingers yelled, reassuring Captain James that he was indeed seeing his wife, or what looked like his wife. Because there she was. Molly Dawes was almost unrecognisable, covered, head to toe, in ash as she stumbled out the building. There were burns littered across her body and Charles felt his heart sink at the sight of them, of _her._ However, she was still Molly. There was that same brunette hair, that same petite figure. That was Molly, _his Molly._ A fireman was assisting her as she walked, another accompanying them with a wailing baby.

She had done it, yet again. Molly had come out victorious. She had saved an innocent child's life whilst risking her own.

"Molls-" Charlie practically sobbed her name out, his throat raspy and his voice foreign. He threw Fingers' hold off him and ran to her, his arms outstretched in a gesture that anybody would expect in a situation like their current.

She was there, she was alive, she was awake.

It was a miracle and Charles let out a sigh of relief as the weight lifted off his chest.

"Daughter." Molly chocked as firemen edged her closer towards Charles. Her eyes were a mess, practically rolling into the back of her head, and Charles had done enough medical training to know what that meant. She was going to faint. _"Daughter."_ And just as the word slipped out of her mouth, Charles was there to catch her as Molly's body went limp.

She was passed out in his arms and Charles' Captain hat was back on. His first point of call was to check her breathing. He placed two fingers to her pulse point and tried to identify a heartbeat … _there was barely one._

"Help! Somebody help. _Please!_ Somebody help us!" Molly's breathes were slow, dangerously so and Charles' sudden reassurance of her safety plummeted back down towards uncertain again.


End file.
